


The Swim Upstream

by leosaysgrrrr



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Assassination Plot(s), Complicated Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Magisterium (Dragon Age), Minrathous, Multi, Murder Mystery, Original Character-centric, Post-Blight, Pre-Inquisition, Pretty much no canon characters whatsoever, Promiscuity, Tevinter Imperium
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2018-08-09 01:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7781464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leosaysgrrrr/pseuds/leosaysgrrrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There is a species of fish living in the tributaries of the Minanter River that, once a year, make the long, arduous journey upstream through the Free Marches and return to the place they were all born.  There, they find their home, they find love, however fleeting, and they find hope for the future.</i>
</p><p>  <i>In the wake of the man she's always known as her father's death during the Fifth Blight, an apostate mage from the Free Marches embarks on her own journey upstream, to the place she was born.  With only a name and the dubious help of a magister's less-than-reputable son, she soon finds that the streets of Minrathous hold a great deal more than just clues about her past.</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tags and stuff will probably be changed/added as I go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 18 Ferventis, 9:33 Dragon

Now, _that_ is the proper response to setting foot in Minrathous, Rexus snickered to himself, and watched as the small, wiry young woman, fresh off of a ship from Kirkwall, collapsed into a heap by the water and promptly began emptying the contents of her stomach into it.  

A southerner in the harbor was hardly a rare sight; the Imperium drew many a visitor from foreign lands, not the least of which were the southern mages seeking its favorable treatment of their kind.  Those visitors tended to strut off their ships with heads held high, ready to claim their perceived new status the moment they set foot on solid ground.  This one, in a refreshing change of pace, held a mess of stray brown curls out of her face as she continued heaving her guts into the pier, and it attracted his attention like light reflected off of a stray gold coin.  Every so often, she attempted to rise to her feet and exit the port, only to end up back on her hands and knees by the water a moment later.  After several such ill-fated attempts, the little southern woman wiped the seasickness from her face for the final time, glanced around to make sure no one was staring, stood steadily enough to hoist her pack onto her shoulders and finally ventured into the swaths of sun-bronzed Tevinter faces.  

When she didn't make the first turn towards the center of the city, the realm of the upper classes and their upper class visitors, as well as the intended destination of most southern mages visiting the city, Rexus surmised she was, instead, most likely heading towards old Nestor’s inn and tavern, on the southern end of the harbor.  A route that, much to his delight, would take her directly past his perch on the balcony jutting off of his small, one room apartment, close enough that he could call down and speak to her if he wished.  He wasted many an hour on that balcony, watching merchants and travelers Tevinter and southern alike make that weary trek off of the harbor, wondering at their reasons for doing so.  More than a few had, after a short, brisk walk to the tavern and a few drinks, ended up keeping him company for the night.  Simple pleasures for a simple man, he thought as he chuckled to himself.  

“Now, what could possibly have brought a sweet little thing like you to this pissbucket city, I wonder?” he muttered to himself, changing position to get a better look as she navigated the street in front of him.  He prided himself on his powers of deduction, but figuring her out wasn’t going to be quite so straightforward.  

The port was littered with shirtless, husky sailors, as many Rivaini and Antivan as Tevinter, with a few Marchers thrown in for good measure; slave laborers carrying this and that from ship to warehouse and vice versa, browned and burnt as only the Tevinter sun could; Soporati merchants, well-to-do and otherwise, peddling all manner of whatever from fish and produce to weapons and jewelry (which more often than not only appeared to be powerfully enchanted, but mundane travelers peppered throughout the crowds rarely knew the difference) and anything else they thought would part the masses of people gracing that filthy street with their presence from their coin.  He could also pick out a few Imperial soldiers, likely returning from Seheron or somewhere equally as wretched.  The few Altus who deigned to be seen on this port strutted about with their noses in the air, perfumed robes flowing in the breeze coming in off the water and staves tapping the ground with each step like a king’s scepter.  

This woman, however...she was none of those.  She was a walking contradiction, a mess of the strikingly conspicuous and the uncannily subtle.  Wherever she came from, it was likely she was considered quite plain, and the deep brown curls and tawny, freckled skin were hardly out of place here.  As far as Rexus was concerned, however, she could very well have been carved of pure marble.  Whichever sculptor he had to thank for such a masterpiece had given her a face chiseled into the sharpest of edges; wide, prominent cheekbones, a keen jawline, the precise cut of her nose.  Indeed, there wasn’t the slightest hint of a soft, smooth curve on her.  Her broad, defined shoulders served as anchors for both a pair of particularly sinewy arms for a woman, and for her upper body to angle downward into straight, narrow hips and stout, athletic legs.  She was just fit enough to be a bit intimidating.  Hugging her outline over dark green linens was armor, not robes, her decidedly not-curvy chest protected from prying eyes by a thick breastplate finely crafted from dark-colored leather with strips in a lighter color sewn on into the shape of a bird, wings spreading across her chest as if to hide it.  Which, naturally, only served to draw Rexus's attention to it.  

 _Well, hello there, little bird,_  he mused to himself with a smile.  

She truly was rather small, he noticed as she got closer.  She probably only stood as tall as his chin, his ears, at most.  If not for the sheer strength of his curiosity and the tiniest of differences in the way she moved relative to her surroundings, he might have easily lost her in the crowd.  Her eyes, black as crude oil and set under trim, straight brows, flicked upwards to meet his as she passed his perch on the balcony, only for a moment.  They lingered just long enough to let him know she was aware of him watching her, took in the slight, involuntary smile he sent her in return, then quickly and deliberately moved on.  

It was odd, that stare.  Those black eyes saw him, but couldn’t have considered him more inconsequential.  Everything seemed inconsequential to her as those eyes moved over her new surroundings, over the ancient buildings barely a fly’s touch from crumbling, the dirty cobblestone street lined with vendors wiping sweat from their foreheads while struggling for her attention, hoping to part her from a greater portion of her southern coin than they would a Tevinter, the young boys taking advantage of those vendors trying to get her to notice them to make off with whatever they could from the merchant stalls.  The little southern bird noticed everything, but never reacted.  She didn’t care.  She moved through it all with agile grace, in a purposeful, resolute stride but with a certain lack of urgency - no, patience.  Patience, and focus.  Likely, she knew her way around the pair of silverite dual-bladed daggers strapped to her back quite well.  He chuckled with the thought that he couldn’t possibly have chosen a more appropriate weapon for her himself; daggers like that were the same mix of flashy and subtle as she was.  

Oh, she _was_ magnificent.  It was still early, but, needless to say, his interest was a great deal more than piqued.

She was also alone, and he was certain he wasn’t the only one who had noticed the arrival of such a fine creature, with so many fine things that would be so enticing to the less reputable inhabitants of this part of the city.

Someone ought to ensure she made it to the inn in one piece, he thought to himself with a smirk.

The crowds thickened a bit past his building, and Rexus stood straight from leaning on the rail and stretched his arms upward with a yawn before smacking the faded curtain aside and plodding his way back into the low-lit, dingy room that served as his home.  It sat directly above the offices of one of the various shipping companies doing business out of the port, although unfortunately also just downwind of several fishmongers, and had once served as extra storage before he convinced the proprietor to rent the room to him.  The walls were wood and cracking masonry, and a steady haze of dust perpetually invaded the crepuscular rays that entered from the balcony and several small holes in the roof, mingling with the smoke of the single pair of sconces by the door and the dirt inherent to the outside air spilling in.  The room was minimally furnished, and mostly empty, and he preferred it that way; there was only a small table next to an oddly luxurious bed, for how austere the rest of the place was, and a rickety table and two rickety chairs by the hole in the wall that led out onto the balcony.  

The wooden floor creaked ominously as he traversed the room, collecting various articles of clothing strewn about.  He sniffed a thin, pilling cotton shirt a few times before discarding it back to the floor.  He gave a momentary glance to the set of black leather armor, bearing the insignia of the Magisterium, unceremoniously piled into a corner, before ultimately deciding on a thinner black leather jerkin.  The garment was one of the best he owned, slightly worn but still in fine shape, sleeveless and only buckled about halfway up his chest to show off the definition there, and that in his own powerful arms.  He always did look good in black, he thought.  

He took a seat on the edge of the bed to pull on his old, flaking black leather boots, and was surprised when the sound he was greeted with as he yanked on the first was not the sound of an insole smacking against the bottom of his foot.  It was almost _breathy_ , and he dismissed it as the gentle breeze outside sneaking in through one of the holes in the walls.  Not exactly an infrequent occurrence.  When he wrestled his foot into the second, however, he not only heard the sound again, but felt a shift in the bed that could not possibly have come from him.  Glancing behind him, he noted that his blankets, threadbare and better suited to covering up than to keeping warm, what with the Minrathous summer heat and all, were piled up quite a bit higher than they ought to be.  Heaving out an exasperated sigh, he reached over to investigate, even though he already knew what he would find there.

As he suspected, he lifted the blanket to reveal a mess of long, disheveled black hair, attached to a smooth, copper-skinned and decidedly naked young woman.  Rexus shook his head as he fastened the buckles on his boots, then threw back a quick swig of the liquor bottle on his bedside table - cheap whisky, as it were.  Unfortunate.  He stood, shaking off the burn, and glanced around the room to locate her clothes, which was easy enough, since he didn’t personally see the appeal of these fancy gowns young Altus ladies were so fond of wearing.  The majority of them looked quite uncomfortable.  Once he collected everything, he dropped it into a haphazard pile next to the bed and knelt next to it, resting his chin on folded arms at its edge.

“Excuse me,” he cooed, probably softer than he should have, as he gently shook the naked woman’s shoulder.  She stirred for a moment, and her long, dark eyelashes flitted up and down as her eyes, still surrounded by some of the pigment she’d worn the night before, slowly fluttered open.  Her plump, wide lips also retained some of their color from the previous night, and parted into an impossibly wide smile, showing off her correspondingly large teeth.  While he could certainly see the appeal of such a large mouth on a woman, every moment he would now have to spend getting rid of her was another lost watching the little bird, and _that_ was about as far from appealing as it could possibly get. 

“There you are, my dashing rogue,” she said groggily, then reached up and tugged on his clothes while shifting her smile into a sultry smirk.  “And already dressed; how disappointing.”

He flashed only a momentary grin.

“So I am, and...there _you_ are…”  He gently poked the pointed tip of her nose.  “Still here.”  

Her teeth peered out from behind her wide lips again, and she pulled her knees towards her chest slightly as she emitted a shrill, coquettish giggle.  “Oh, stop.  Of course I am.”  She rolled onto her back, her breasts escaping the blankets without a shred of doubt in Rexus’s mind that she’d entirely meant for it to happen.  “Come back to bed, won’t you?  It’s still so early.”

Another momentary smile, and he moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to her, catching her hands in his before she could wrap her arms around him.

“Yes, well, for you, my dear, it’s quite late.  Listen...” he trailed off as he set her hands on the bed next to him, and made a face that would make it plain as day that he hadn’t the slightest inkling of her name.

Her brow creased expectantly, and one of her impeccably shaped eyebrows lifted slowly each second that passed without him continuing with her name, until she finally realized he wasn’t getting it on his own.  

“...Ateia.”

“ _Ateia,_ yes,” he repeated, snapping his fingers as if he’d known all along.  He propped his elbow on one knee, and laid his head on his fist with a coy smirk.  “Why, exactly, are you still here?”

 _That_ caught her by surprise, and her face, which really was quite lovely despite that mouth, seemed to implode accordingly.  Maker, the teeth were even worse when her face scrunched like that.  “What?”

He ran a hand through the thick cloud of black curls that remained atop his head, surrounded by coarse stubble on all sides, a few times, and feigned a chuckle to hide his growing frustration.  The dense crowds would not hold his prize forever.

“See, I know I don’t have a fancy Circle education and all that, but I rather thought that was worded quite clearly.  Why,” he inquired, leaning close to her with an expression that was half glare, and almost menacingly so, and half smirk, “are you still here?”

Now she was quite offended, and Rexus found himself swiftly running out of patience.

“I beg your-”

“My dear,” he interrupted, brushing the pad of one finger down her lips.  “I’m afraid you exhausted my patience with your begging last night, which is quite an achievement, actually, and you should be proud.  Nevertheless, more will, sadly, grant you no pardon from me.”  

Her mouth hung open in utter disbelief, but she still didn’t move, so Rexus resorted to desperate measures: he picked up the pile of her clothing, shoes and all, and dropped them directly on top of her.

“Time to go.”

The young lady (Rexus had already forgotten her name again) spewed a series of “well-I- _never_ ”s and “how- _dare_ -you”s as she hurriedly dressed, or at least tried to.  There would be no doubt in anyone’s mind upon seeing her what _she_ had got up to last night.  The Altus district was a further walk than it seemed, too, poor thing.

“Your father will hear about this, Caius Leventis,” she spat as she jerked open the flimsy wooden door.  You’ll be sorry!”

With that, she slammed the door shut, sending puffs of dust off of it to join the rest of the floating particles offering brief flashes as they passed through the rays of sunlight peeking in around the curtain to the balcony.  Rexus smirked at the way she sank her horse teeth into his younger brother’s name, and, once he heard her finish stumbling down the stairs (which were really little more than a wide-runged ladder), he opened the door and called after her,

“See that he does, would you?”  

She gave him a dumbfounded look for a moment, then huffed with a low growl and stormed the rest of the way out to the street.  

“There’s a good girl,” he snickered.  He snatched a harness from the corner with the Magisterium armor in it that held his weapons, two identical obsidian blades that looked like odd amalgamations of wide-bladed knives and axes, with wooden handles inlaid with obsidian rings around the bottom, and strapped it on, then found his way out the door himself.

 

As fate would have it, by the time Rexus reached the street, the little bird was nowhere to be found.  Far from discouraged, he continued south.  His building marked the end of any turns that continued onto streets, and not just alleys, so as long as she hadn’t doubled back there weren’t many places she could be.  There was, however, a much higher concentration of merchants on  this end of the harbor, and larger crowds to navigate, which would make keeping an eye on her should he find her again more difficult.  If he didn’t see her on the way, it was safe to assume he could find her at the inn; in fact, it was safe to assume most things Rexus would be looking for could be found at the inn.  

He passed the last of the alleyways off of the main street along the harbor without, sadly, spotting those rich brown curls, and leaned against a wall next to a fruit stand for a moment to count the coin he had with him.  Not a terrible feeling really, being fated to end up drinking in a tavern in which he would likely have ended up drinking later anyway.  It _was_ still early, but that just meant the good spots wouldn’t be taken, and Nestor wouldn’t be quite so grouchy yet.  

Just as Rexus tightened the strings on his coinpurse, he heard voices coming from the alley next to him.  Well, of course there were voices; that was nothing out of the ordinary, but these particular voices drew his attention.  He’d know them anywhere.  They belonged to Patten and Fingers, a couple of Ander lowlives well known to stalk this part of the city for unsuspecting rich young women, because apparently attempting to rob a man was beyond their particular sets of skills.  Rexus wasn’t exactly the picture of altruism and morality himself, but he was no thief.  A scoundrel, and a lecher, to be certain, but not a thief.  An extortionist, sometimes, but, well...only in an official capacity.  Mostly, anyway.  In any case, he decided the tavern could wait for just a moment while he straightened those two out.

The second he turned his head in the direction of the voices, he saw her.  He’d have known that mess of curls anywhere, but it helped that her back was to him, and the daggers poking out above the top of her pack were also rather distinctive.  Careful not to alert the stout, rotund Patten or his lanky, dim-witted partner, Rexus inched closer, concealed by the shade from a ragged awning, and tried to listen.  It was one of the stranger interactions between those two and a potential victim he’d witnessed, and he’d witnessed several; always with the intent to foil it, of course.  After all, what better way to get a woman to go home with him than to, as far as she knew, anyway, save her life?  

The two men did all the talking; the little bird never said a word.  She didn’t tell them she wasn’t looking for trouble, or apologize for having turned down the alley by accident. She looked even smaller standing on even ground with her, oddly enough, but she stood straight and still, firmly planted in position with her arms folded in front of her.  More annoyed than distressed, if he was being perfectly honest with himself.  Every so often, the little bird would appear to tire of listening to them yammer on, and make an attempt to simply walk around them without saying a word, which they inevitably blocked.  

After a few more cycles of this, Patten made his first mistake.

He shoved her.

She stumbled backwards only slightly, but the second she regained her footing, her hands flew to the hilts of her daggers.  Both men’s eyes grew wide in anticipation, and they both made their second mistake: they drew their own weapons, pointing them at her while circling like vultures with the sort of feigned confidence that men of their sort so often displayed.  A few seconds passed with no one making a move, but neither Rexus nor the two Anders could have possibly been prepared for what happened next.

The little bird withdrew her hands from her weapons, and instead stretched them out to either side of her, palms facing the Anders with her fingers curled and strained as if gripping some invisible object with all her might.  It almost looked as if she were preparing some sort of spell; mages practiced their craft openly on the streets of Minrathous regularly, so such a sight was not uncommon.  However, even the mundane knew that they could _see_ magic.  There was an ethereal glow to it, or fire, ice, or lightning.  Around her small, fragile-looking hands, there was nothing at all.  All three men knit their brows in confusion.  Not a moment later, she took a nimble step backwards and, with a quick flick of her wrists, turned her hands inward.  

The second she did that, Patten and Fingers’s respective knives leapt from their hands and flew at the man across from their original owners, not simply embedding themselves into the chests of their victims, but passing through them entirely, as if they were arrows instead of knives, with enough force for the blades to stick halfway into the walls on either side.

Rexus was almost as shocked as they were.  Not that Patten and Fingers were killed right in front of him, in particular; murder in the streets was almost the order of the day in Minrathous.  Truthfully, he was surprised those two hadn’t been murdered already.  No, he simply hadn’t expected the same small woman he watched dump her weight in vomit into the harbor to be the one to kill them, just like that, without a second thought.  He’d expected some quick-drawn dagger wielding from her, but not _magic,_ and especially not _that_ magic.  

Through the shock and awe, Rexus managed a tiny smirk.  It appeared he’d been mistaken in his initial assessment of that sweet little southern woman, after all.

 _‘Magnificent’_ was not a word that could do her justice.  

As the two wide-eyed men collapsed to their knees and slumped over into heaps in the dirt and grime of the alley, the little bird turned on her heels and walked back to the street as if nothing at all had happened.  Rexus instinctively flattened himself against the wall a little, hopefully not enough for her to notice, if she noticed him at all.  

Not that he was _afraid_ of her, or anything.  

She did notice, and he couldn’t keep himself from sprouting a wry smile as he noticed she was...truthfully quite beautiful up close, but all she offered him was that same stare he’d received on his balcony.  She looked right at him and let her eyes tell him that he did not matter in the slightest to her.  It was probably the strangest feeling Rexus had ever experienced, this... _insignificance_ with which she regarded him.   _Twice._ He should have been offended, but he wasn’t.  He was in awe.  He was intrigued.  He was _fascinated._ He was overcome with an intense need to know more: who was she?  Where did she come from?  What could possibly have brought someone like that to this pissbucket city?   _Kaffas,_ what did her _voice_ sound like?

As she brushed past him and turned southward once more to finally reach her destination, it occurred to Rexus that approaching her while armed was probably not the greatest idea.  He was none too keen on ending up with his weapons stuck in his chest, or worse.  No, the size of her pack suggested she would be here for a while, so, for now, he would simply watch.

There would be plenty of time for more later.


	2. 26 Matrinalis, 9:33 Dragon

Such a rude beast, the Minrathous mid-day sun.

Never mind the punishing heat, only exacerbated by the affinity Rexus - and most of Tevinter, truthfully - maintained for black clothing.  No, the bothersome, invasive rays currently roasting him alive reminded Rexus of a far more unpleasant and inconvenient truth:

_You’re late, Rexus._

Not that such a thing was unusual.  Most of the city knew better than to expect to be graced with the presence of Rexus Leventis until at least an hour after he was supposed to arrive, and at this point he saw no benefit to defying such expectations.  He certainly couldn’t be bothered with punctuality the day after returning from an especially tedious trip to Carastes, and certainly not at an hour so unimaginably early, not even for the wife of a powerful member of the Magisterium.  

On second thought, perhaps it would be in his best interests not to keep this one waiting.

The quickest way into the city’s central district from the harbor passed through the slums inhabited by the liberati, elves and some humans who had been granted freedom from slavery, if one could call living in a dung pit of an alley that made Rexus' hovel by the harbor look like a palace ‘freedom’.  ‘Inhabited’ was a bit of a strong word, in this case; the narrow dirt alleyways were lined with hastily hewn-together shacks and lean-tos, packed tightly next to and piled on top of each other, with shoddy ladders providing access to the upper levels and raggedy awnings sewn together from scraps of fabric keeping the sun from the shame of having to shine on that place.  All this, in an effort to keep the ‘unsightly’ denizens corralled in as small a space as possible.  

Maker forbid there be more than one street the elite of Tevinter must avoid lest they soil the hem of their robes in the same muck trod over by their own discarded beasts of burden.  

Rexus recognized some of the faces sneering behind cautiously closing doors as he strolled leisurely through the squalor, thumbs tucked into his belt, boots displacing the dirt beneath them with his own particular brand of arrogance.  Not the sort that told the unwashed masses with their curled lips and occasional phlegm aimed in his direction they ought to be grateful he deigned to be seen among them, but a tacit assertion that those boots belonged in that dirt.  A smirk drew across his face at the thought that sizable cohort of Altus mages likely agreed.  The elves, however, were begrudgingly content to let the man wearing the insignia of the Magisterium pass without incident, despite an obvious wish in their tense countenance to do just the opposite.  

Judging by the commotion at the end of the alley, someone else was not so lucky.

“Back!  Get back!”

An elderly elven woman stood with her back pressed against a nearby wall, shaking a bundle of dried herbs in front of her.  Quite a furious, resolute shake, as well, as if they would actually protect her from anything other than…well, bland food, perhaps?  Her threats echoed throughout the gaggle of elves surrounding her, menacing her assailant with hardly more than knobby fists and scrawny fingers.  Rexus couldn’t see who, exactly, they were, this poor soul on the receiving end of all this, but his curiosity proved powerful enough to increase his pace just so until the figure before her came into view.

“I mean you no harm, miss, I only-”

Rexus couldn’t help but emit a minuscule squeaking snicker to himself when he saw the armor: rich brown leather, with lighter strips sewn into the shape of a bird on the breastplate.

And the curls, the color of rich soil.

The little southern bird from the harbor.

He’d only caught glimpses of her - and her rather exquisitely formed backside - at Nestor’s inn since her arrival weeks ago.  Sadly, she did not appear to share the enthusiasm of the old man’s other guests for his tavern; she set foot in it only because doing so was necessary in order to leave, which she did early every morning, or to reach her room when she returned for the night.  Where she’d go all day, Rexus couldn’t say.  He entertained ideas, of course, lurid and salacious fantasies he would have deeply regretted not being part of if he hadn’t been certain they couldn’t have been further from the truth.  He did enjoy them nonetheless.  

Following her crossed his mind more than once, but the idea quickly faded as he reminded himself of the last time he’d tried such a thing.  Funny, he thought, how the only other time he seemed to run into her was when she was being accosted in an alley.  Well, in this case, he supposed she was the one doing the accosting, but her posture, straight-backed and steadfast, was certainly less threatening than the elf’s, still pointing her aromatic weapon towards the diminutive woman whose daggers remained sheathed on her back.

“Be gone with you!”

The little bird took a calculated step forward.  “I am not here to hurt you, I am only looking for my-”

Rexus' cheek twitched a little with the way her tongue tapped out the ‘r’ sounds; he wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but the soft, breathy lilt she emitted, with the tiniest bit of a gritty scratch against her throat, seemed both entirely fitting and the furthest thing possible from what it should’ve been.  Too calm, yet exactly calm enough.  Reasoning he could afford the time out of his already pressing schedule - or, rather, deciding that he would take it, whether he could spare it or not - he stopped short of approaching the ruckus directly, and instead leaned against the rickety wall of the shack closest to him to watch the show.

“No, no!  Nothing here for the likes of you!”

Negotiation, it seemed, was not the little bird’s strong point.  Sadly typical of southerners in Minrathous, this idea they could get something from a Tevinter simply by asking.  After some deliberation regarding whether this information was worth more to him than a bottle of mid-tier whisky at the tavern later rather than the cheap swill he usually settled for, Rexus, far more experienced in such matters, pulled two coins from a pouch in his belt and raised them between his fingers, in full view of the owner of the eyes he’d felt crawling over him since he’d stopped there.  

“Care to make some coin?”

A hand darted out of a dark alcove behind him, narrowly missing the coins as Rexus flicked his wrist forward, curling the coins into the safety of a tight fist.  A child, no more than twelve or thirteen, among the easiest demographic of the slums’ inhabitants to part with valuable information when dangling shiny things In their faces.

“Ah-ah, you know I never pay up front,” he jeered, rolling the coins over his fingers in deft waves.  The dirt in the alcove shifted listlessly beneath his would-be informant’s pouting feet.

A moment passed, and the old woman’s shrieking gave way to a hushed, slightly raspy soprano, emanating softly from the shadows behind him.  

“Ain’t got no one right now.”

“Then it seems you’re in luck, since that’s not what I’m after today,” Rexus retorted over one shoulder.  The only reply he received was a dull rustling, perhaps from leaning against the wall or kicking at the ground.  

“Know anything about our new friend over there?”  

Silence, for a few moments, but for the sound of nervous tapping.  And, of course, a raving elf.

“She looking for someone.”

Rexus quirked an eyebrow, but continued facing forward.  As if the little bird from the harbor wasn't fascinating enough; a great many travelers sought out Minrathous in search of one thing or another, but by far the most interesting were those who came in search of someone else.  Friends, family, enemies, lovers, targets, reunion, rendezvous, revenge…the list went on, and every one of them tickled Rexus into ravenous, almost involuntary curiosity.

“Is that so?”  He swatted at a fly, and wiped at the drops of sweat creeping down his cheek.  “Who might that be?”

“Don’t know.”  

With a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, Rexus reached into his coin purse once more and produced another coin, balancing all three between his fingers.  He could always find someone else to pay for his drinks.  “How about now?”

More rustling, and a tentative lurch forward.

“Her mama.  Went south as a babe, now she looking for her mama.”

Her mother.  A bit disappointing, really - not what he would consider the most titillating of searches.  He would have enjoyed the challenge of luring her away from revenge, or from a lost love, but this?  Southern mages hoping to find long lost family in Tevinter…it was all too common, and tired.  So tired.  Nonetheless, Rexus narrowed his eyes, tensing his face around how strange it was that rather than claiming lineage among the elite of Tevinter, she would be searching _here._

“I see.  And who’s her mama?”

“Don’t know.  Ask her y’self.”

 _Smartass._  He feigned exasperation as he heaved a sigh, and pointed at the elven woman.  Still raving, still shoving herbs in the little bird’s face.

“Does she know?”

“Lucia don’t like talking to shems.”

“I’d have never guessed,” he quipped behind a half-hearted chuckle.  Suspecting he’d discovered all the treasure he could dredging that particular cesspool, Rexus flicked the coins to the ground behind him.  “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

He shoved off the wall as the elven child scrambled to gather the coins behind him, stuck his thumbs back into his belt, and continued his stroll down the alley.  One by one, the elves who just a moment prior seemed to be falling over themselves to be part of the commotion ceased such endeavors, and stood straight and still as the man in familiar black Magisterium armor passed.  Even the old woman - Lucia, the kid had called her - fell silent once the intertwining dragons on his chest caught her eye.  She let the bundle of herbs in her hand fall slowly to her side, and trained a wide, strained eye on him.  Admittedly, he almost gave in to the temptation to lunge toward her as he passed, but he supposed she’d endured the presence of humans enough for one day.  

He passed the little bird last, who stood with her hands clasped behind her back, the most hauntingly still of them all.  Rexus made no secret of letting his eyes crawl over her, gloating at her with a smug, silent _you’re welcome_.  In return, she offered him only the same dismissive momentary glance, to which he responded with a particularly emphatic wink.  The only sound as he left the squalor of the elven slums behind was that of rocks and mud as she turned on her heels and headed back the way he’d come.

Once he heard the sound of his boots hitting bare cobblestone rather than dirt and mud, Rexus raised a hand to his forehead.  As dark and dingy as the elven slums had been, such was the wanton brightness and vivacity of the Altus district.  The sun shone on its meticulously maintained marble, masonry, and obsidian without obstruction, the towering ancient stone architecture of the Circle of Magi and the Argent Spire climbing proudly above the rest of the city and disappearing into the blinding, oppressive rays.  

The people were on display, as well.  Fine silks dyed black as night, intricately embroidered in contrasting silver and gold framed around and flowed behind dazzlingly gorgeous men and women centuries in the making, mages of such caliber their ancestors could only dream would be the culmination of their beloved legacies.  It was here of which people spoke when they regaled others with tales of the immortal splendor of Minrathous, but not a single word of it could ever truly do those streets justice.

Mostly, because it was all horse shit.  

The marble and stone stood solely due to powerful magic put in place before any magister currently sitting in the Senate even set foot within their walls, and the cobblestones beneath his feet would easily give way to invading weeds and anthills.  Even the Altus themselves toed a line separating riches from ruin, prosperity from pauperhood, a position of power from a gruesome death.  Every bit of that splendor was truthfully not a shred different from the rest of the city, fallen from its former glory into a state of perpetual decay and disrepair, and would crumble to dust alongside it if only one knew the right place to push.   

The corridor connecting the elven slums to the Altus district emptied into one of Minrathous’s several large, open squares surrounding an excessively ornate fountain depicting some prominent magister from ages past and lined on all sides with ancient edifice, the magically maintained facades like massive grimaces lamenting the utter gall and disrespect of the shops and restaurants currently inhabiting them.  Just as well, Rexus thought, for the walls containing the nobles to be as laughably haughty as they were.  For all any of them knew, the ancient Tevinters walking these streets passed nothing more than shops and restaurants as well.  Only, by virtue of being ancient, better ones.  

His quarry for the afternoon lie at an outdoor café on the other side of the square: wrapped in the finest gold-trimmed dark green cotton and samite, long black hair plaited neatly and intricately woven amongst itself atop her head, seated in the only cushioned chair in sight, fanning the midday heat from her face and no doubt quite displeased with his tardiness.  Rexus, meanwhile, made no effort to rush his comfortable meandering across the cobblestones.  She’d not seen him yet, and he did so enjoy the sneers, sideways glances, and coquettish smiles invariably sent his way whenever he ventured into their territory.

Atilia Curio held the eyes and ears of many a powerful man in Tevinter.  Of course, she did so because she also held the balls of said powerful men in the palm of her hand, and the manner of blasé vanity with which she carried herself served as a constant reminder that all she had to do was squeeze.  She distinguished herself among the wives of long-sitting magisters through a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, as well as a pointed refusal to alter her appearance with magic, and, as she was widely regarded to be one of the most beautiful women in the Imperium even at her age, she certainly did not need to.  A brilliant standout from the Qarinus Circle of Magi, Atilia’s marriage into one of Minrathous’s oldest houses afforded her the wealth and opportunity to amass enough influence that, despite not having a seat on the Magisterium herself, not a single idea on the Senate floor even breached the chamber without first meeting her in one way or another.  

She also had the distinct honor and pleasure of being Rexus' mother.

Her severe dark stare, like the mouth of a cave or a crevasse with no bottom in sight, needed only a moment to catch his approach.  An instantaneous distraction that, unfortunately for the meek elven servant currently the subject of his mother’s ire, failed entirely to derail her attention from the fact that she held a nearly empty glass, and sat at a table devoid of even a single morsel of anything edible.

“Now, get out of my sight, and do not even consider returning without my meal,” she barked, emphatically waving the servant away.  “ _Kaffas_ , at least my son here has enough sense not to waste my precious time.”

Rexus offered a cursory grin and waggled his eyebrows at a passing couple, and stopped when his shadow fell just short of offering her face a reprieve from the sunlight, should she have bothered to look up from the wine she swirled in the glass perched between her fingers.

“Not something I’m accused of every day, but I suppose I’ll take it.”

Decidedly unamused, Atilia glanced towards him with pursed lips and a lazy raise of her eyebrows, then returned her attention to her wine glass as she waved an equally lazy and haphazard hand in her own special way of inviting him to sit.

“You’ve some nerve being that smug, boy.  You’re late.”

The words glided against the back of her throat and off her tongue like satin.  The woman had called Minrathous home for at least all of Rexus' nearly twenty seven years, but the speech of Qarinus never left her, not even in the slightest.  

“I’m always smug,” he said, sinking heavily into the chair across from her, and the air around him noticeably cooling as he did so.  Atilia’s eyes floated reluctantly back to him and followed him all the way down, even seemed to shine with a bit of amusement at the wince he gave upon realizing that perhaps he should have been a bit more delicate when seating himself.  Nevertheless, he leaned casually backwards, legs slung off to each side, and scratched at the stubble on his face.  “And I’m always late.”

The incredulous ‘hmph’ shot back in his direction told him all he needed to know as far as what she thought about _that_.  Just as well, really.  In another show of the sheer magnitude of respect she commanded, Atilia Curio remained the only soul in Minrathous who refused to budge where her son’s behavior was concerned.  Where others would simply request he show up an hour before they actually wanted him to, when Atilia told him noon, she expected him, as she would expect anyone else, to be seated in front of her at noon, and not a moment later.

Of course, in another show of just how little Rexus cared for the breadth of respect anyone in Minrathous commanded, she was often disappointed.  And, as she often did when disappointed, she swirled the wine in her glass again, and raised it to her lips while rolling her eyes as far back into her head as they would go.

“I take it your time in Carastes was productive?”

Ah, yes.   _That._  

Rexus produced several creased rolls of dog-eared parchment from his armor, and tossed one irreverently onto the table between them.  With the fluidity and grace one might expect, Atilia relinquished her wine glass to the table and examined his offering.  She read quickly, her eyes darting back and forth across the pages in a deliberate, yet somehow entirely bored fashion until she gingerly rolled the parchment between her hands again, indicating her approval with nothing more than a stiff nod.

“See?” he jeered through a bit of a strained groan as he stretched his arms over his head.  “Still your favorite.”

“ _Tch._  Solely for a lack of fair competition.”  Atilia paid Rexus' exaggerated gasp of feigned offense no mind, and slipped the roll of parchment into her clothes.  “Speaking of which, I overheard a fascinating encounter between your father and one of his fellow magisters while you were away.”

“You don’t say?” he replied, and reached across the table after the swig or two of wine left in his mother’s glass, only to receive a stern glare down her nose as she closed her fan and sharply rapped his knuckles with it.

“I do.”  She retrieved and gingerly threw back the remaining wine, downing it in a single swallow, all the while never breaking eye contact.  “It seems that abominably large-mouthed daughter of his requested an official inquiry into the disreputable behavior of your father’s younger son.”

Caius Leventis, the mageling heir Magister Gratian Leventis, Atilia’s unfortunate husband and Rexus' unfortunate father, had always wanted.  Spoiled rotten, self-important little shit, all of barely eighteen years old and the newest of the Minrathous Circle of Magi’s prestigious Imperial Enchanters.  And, frequently, the scapegoat for Rexus' more disreputable actions involving his brother’s contemporaries.

“In trouble already, is he?  What, pray tell, did your darling little boy do this time?”

The glare he received from his mother could have frozen a rage demon.

“You presume I would consider a cockroach ‘darling’.”

Before Rexus could reply with anything more than a chuckle, Atilia raised one finger in front of her, then turned to loudly address the servant behind her.

“This is a restaurant, is it not?”  The servant replied only with a nervous nod, unsure whether eye contact with the visibly vexed woman would be prudent.  “Then am I correct in assuming you’re meant to feed people, not to starve them?”

After much too long for his mother’s comfort, if the tapping of her lacquered fingernails on the table and the vein bulging from her neck were any indication, the servant squeaked out a feeble ‘yes, ma’am’, and disappeared head down back into the restaurant.

“Now, as I was saying,” she continued matter-of-factly, and set about straightening her skirts.  “As I heard it, he seduced her in a tavern, and they spent a lovely wine-soaked evening locked together in carnal embrace by the harbor.”  

“He did _not_!” Rexus gasped, very nearly failing to stifle a chuckle.  It was, as they usually were, a dalliance, nothing more, to enjoy for a night and then be forgotten.  He required a body to warm his bed and wet his cock, and hers, as they usually were, had simply been the first to volunteer.  Hardly worthy of such dramatic language.

No doubt aware of this, Atilia pursed her lips in front of a knowing grunt before she continued.  “The unimaginable shit then proceeded to dismiss her unceremoniously the next morning.  Quite rudely, in fact.  Threw the poor girl’s clothes right into her face and demanded she leave that instant without so much as a peck on the cheek.”

“I believe it was more of a drop than a throw,” he muttered.  “Ahem, or so I’d imagine.”

“A throw might have been of greater aid to that unfortunate face of hers,” Atilia replied, without missing a beat or lifting her eyes from her regrettably empty wine glass.   “In any case, your father - Magister Leventis” - she raised her voice considerably as she named her husband, as if anyone who happened to pass by could help but know who she was and, consequently, her husband - “and I are well aware that Caius couldn’t seduce the clothes off of a naked whore, so he rather took offense to such accusations.  I dare say it nearly came to blows.”

The muscles in his cheeks strained, and Rexus bit at his lower lip, shifting in his chair at the thought of the proud, stuffy, by all accounts respectable magister raising a hand to another man for daring to suggest that his precious heir would do something so base as to indulge in pleasures of the flesh.  Ordinarily, rather than confronting the magister, those seeking retribution for wrongs committed in Caius’s name simply rained their accusations on Caius himself.  His brother’s persistent disinterest in practically anything beyond his studies and ambitions was all but common knowledge, but the nobility of Tevinter would eat up scandal like a pack of hyenas on a fresh carcass, and the son of a magister betrothed since birth engaging in such indelicate behavior proved a most delicious treat.  

“ _Tsk, tsk, tsk._ Oh, dear,” Rexus mused, leaning back in his chair so that the front legs lifted off the ground and slowly shaking his head back and forth.  “You know, it’s such a shame.  I’d thought better of my dear little brother.”

A servant, different than the one before and presumably with the dexterity required to complete his task, rushed out to refill his mother’s wine glass and set a fresh one in front of him, which remained in place for less than a split second before Rexus sent a generous mouthful down his throat.  A robust red, dry with hints of spice, truffle, and cacao mixed with tart berries.  Or, at least, that was how the servant would have described it had Rexus cared enough to ask.  To him, it was simply the strongest wine the restaurant served, and that was good enough for him.  

Atilia, despite having chosen the wine for the same reason, gave the servant a stinging glare and her glass a customary swirl before taking considerably more delicate sips.

“I suppose a diligent mother ought to scold you for this nonsense, but I’m rather more concerned with holding on to the precious few things that continue to amuse me,“ she said, her tongue nimbly catching any errant drink on her lips.  “Besides, malicious attacks on one’s reputation are commonplace among Imperial enchanters, as well as the Magisterium, and since the little snake had to go and become one at such a tender age and aspires to the other, he may as well get used to them.  There are worse things to be accused of than bending an heiress over a crate in some dusty storeroom.”

Rexus raised his glass with a smirk.  “Well said.  I should be so lucky myself.”

His mother’s face seemed torn, doing all she could to appear unamused at his incessant refusal to claim responsibility for his work while simultaneously being quite the opposite.

“I’ve dealt with the situation for now, in case you were curious,” she informed him.  The corners of her mouth drooped a little, and she folded her hands around the wine glass in her lap, leaning slightly forward with a look that demanded his full attention.  “Henceforth, however, I must insist you use at the very least a modicum of caution.  Your wiles are well honed, my son, but never forget that you are a gelding in a stable of stallions.  One day, you’re going to find yourself in a pile of shit you won’t be able to fuck your way out of, and you won’t be able to run to me to save you, either.”  

He nearly spit the wine from his mouth with laughter, if only a moment too late to keep his mother from noticing she’d chosen exactly the right words.  A _gelding?_ True, he walked among arguably the most powerful mages in Thedas as one born without magic, but a _gelding among stallions?_ The altus were inescapably bound to their traditions, the whims of their families, to expectations and what is considered ‘proper’.  Outside their borders, any of those so-called stallions would be leashed, caged, corralled like the dangerous animals they were, while Rexus would be free to roam and drink and fuck anywhere he liked.  They were chained to Tevinter in a way he never would be, given strength only by circumstance and eternally at risk of losing what calling him a fucking _gelding_ implied he’d ever had or wanted in the first place.  

“Such a lack of faith.  You wound me, madam.”

“Nevertheless.  I would _appreciate_ you taking a bit more care to avoid such things.”

Rather than another clever quip, Rexus found his thoughts turning to his little bird, all alone in his city without the first clue how to exist there.  Less a gelding in a stable of stallions than a mouse in a pit of vipers.  A songbird among snakes.  He recalled the day she arrived, the knives driven into the masonry walls, dripping with blood.  Such tactics may work for dealing with low-life pickpockets, but if she sought a former slave, sooner or later she would have to deal with the snakes.  

That, however, was not his problem.

Almost as if they meant to grant him reprieve from his thoughts and his mother’s lectures, a small clamor arose from inside the building as several servants hurried to their table, drawing the attention of the restaurant’s other patrons and carrying between them several silver trays layered with dates and figs, grapes, nuts, cheeses, sheets of flat bread, and a covered dish of lamb simmered in fermented cream sauce.  The most food Rexus had seen in months, and the last hot meal he would have for a few more.  

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Atilia groaned, “finally remembered people come here to eat rather than to bruise their asses in these pitiful excuses for chairs, have you?  Come on then, let’s have it.  You’ve kept my son and I waiting quite long enough, thank you very much.”

The servants obliged, arranging everything with the greatest care not to drop it, or set it on the table too harshly, or to push anything too close to the edge, or to spill even the tiniest drop as they refilled their glasses of wine.  No sooner had they completed their task than they disappeared back into the restaurant, leaving their guests to enjoy their meal without the burden of having to see them.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy?” Atilia asked, gesturing in front of her with her chin and waving her hands about over the food.  “No one wants to be impaled through the ass on your hip bones.  Eat.”

They sat in silence as Rexus ate his fill, and tucked away some extra morsels for later.  Atilia popped figs and grapes into her mouth between sips of wine, but left most of the meal untouched, as she always did.  It stung; she insisted on these meetings every so often not simply to belittle servants and get piss drunk in the middle of the day, but because sharing a meal with one’s mother was quite a different thing than being given one.

“Well, this has been an utter delight, as always,” he announced as he licked the last of the sauce from his fingers and wiped his mouth on his bracers, “but I’m afraid I’ve other appointments to attend to.  Duty calls, and all that.”

Atilia tapped her own lips with a silk handkerchief and responded with a stiff nod before reaching across the table and grasping his hand in hers.  She smiled ever so slightly and caressed the back of it with her thumb in the most blatant sort of gesture of fondness she gave, and released him with a couple sharp pats.

“Do give Magister Arcadius my regards.”

Rexus flashed a wry grin as he stood, partly at her and partly at the knowledge that the magister would appreciate the regards of Atilia Curio quite a bit more than documents and poorly written reports on Carastes.  He bid his mother farewell, ran a hand through his hair as the heat returned, stuck his thumbs into his belt, and began his steady amble towards the great halls of the Magisterium.

The wine caught up to him as he approached the corridor that would take him back through the slums and towards the harbor, and he cut across the crowds to relieve himself on a wall nearby.  Couched between his contented sighs, a few appalled gasps, and the sound of piss against ancient stone, his thoughts turned again to the raving old elven woman, the bundle of herbs, and the little bird from the south.  

The little songbird, searching for a long-lost mother in the pit of snakes.

He stood still for a moment after situating himself, and watched the wind blow through the cloth overhangs in the corridor.  The notion struck him that, much like the little bird herself, such a thing might be fascinating to witness.  Too fascinating, in fact, to simply let it happen without him.

He pulled a handful of dates from a pouch at his hip and shoved them into his mouth, then turned on his heels, into the corridor.  It wouldn’t kill Arcadius to wait another hour or two.

* * *

 

Old Nestor announced Rexus' arrival to his tavern with the hard, angry crash of a tankard on the bar, and the rattling of bottles behind it.  

“Oh, sweet blazes, it’s too early to be dealin’ with _this_ arsehole.”

He would have said so regardless of the time.

In an effort to avoid the absolute travesty that would be needlessly distracting the early afternoon tavern-goers from their drinks and card games, Rexus threw his arm out to the sides in a confident swagger towards the bar.

“Nestor, is that any way to treat your favorite customer?”  

The old man sneered as Rexus dropped one elbow on the thick, chipping wood of the bar.  

“If I ‘ad a favorite customer, you certainly wouldn’t be it,” Nestor growled, and gathered the tankard in one palsied, liver-spotted hand.  He stared at Rexus, who returned his disdain with a roguish grin, and spat a fresh phlegm off to one side before snatching a rag from under the bar and listlessly wiping the tankard’s rim.  “Want a drink, or what?”

Rexus nodded, and Nestor tapped a finger on the bar, shaking his head, in what had become understood between them to mean, 'coin first'.  Sadly light his last three coins, Rexus reluctantly withdrew his request with a raised hand.

“Our friend, the little bird from the south.  She wouldn’t happen to be here at the moment, would she?”

Somehow, Nestor’s eyes narrowed even further.  Both tankard and rag dropped to the bar, and he threw a strained finger in Rexus’ face.

“Look, you leave ‘er alone.   She pays what she owes and don’t bother nobody.”

Rexus answered with only a dry snicker.  The old man was quite mistaken, given the scene in the slums earlier that day.  Finally relaxing his sneer, as much as he ever did at any rate, Nestor snatched up the rag once more and took to wiping the bar between them.  

“Lady like that won’t want nothin’ to do with the likes ‘a you,” he muttered.  

Poor old fool.  Should’ve known by now that would only serve to make the little bird _more_ interesting.

“That’d be for her to decide, yes?  Besides, I’m asking on business.”

“Business, eh?” Nestor scoffed.  “Well, I ehn’t seen her come back yet,” he spat, pointing his spindly, quivering finger in Rexus' face again.  “Don’t be harassin’ my guests, you hear?  I got a business to run.”

“I would never,” Rexus assured him, arms stretched out to the side as he stepped backwards a few steps, until he stood beside several husky men crowded around a game of cards.  One man pushed out a barely audible _“shit…”_ and let his cards fall to the table as the man across from him cackled, gathering the pile of coin and valuables into his arms and dragging it towards him.  Seeing his chance, Rexus leaned over and lifted one of the cards from the table and returned to the bar.  He reached behind it, where he knew Nestor kept his quill, despite the old man’s protest, and scrawled a message across the card before handing it to the fuming bartender.

“See that she gets this, then, would you?”

It would hardly kill him to wait a little longer, either.

 

 

 


	3. 10 Parvulis, 9:33 Dragon

Night after night, Rexus awaited his little bird’s certain arrival tucked into a corner table under the stairs at Nestor’s tavern, feet propped up and nursing whatever questionable bottle of liquor the old man was willing to part with that day.  And, night after night, Rexus watched as the little bird returned, always at the same time, handed Nestor a few coins for her room, and disappeared up the stairs with barely more than a coincidental glance in his direction.

By the second straight week of this, Rexus began to consider that perhaps, he’d be waiting far longer than he wanted to.

A troupe of bards played a lively melody over the usual din of conversation and clinking glasses, occasionally giving way to a cacophony of belly laughs and cackles, but the only sounds entering Rexus’ ears were that of his fingers drumming on the table, and the sole of his boot tapping against the loose plank in the floor.  The bottle in front of him, covered in dust and a layer of translucent grime, sat long empty. Not that a little dust and grime would stop him from picking it up and tilting it back and forth in his hand, hopeful it might yet give up the few lingering drops he was certain still clung to the inside of the glass.

She was late.  

That, or he’d missed her.  It couldn’t have been that, though, could it?  True, this particular bottle of some atrocious liquor he was quite certain hadn’t been black when Nestor first acquired it was a bit more full than the ones the old man usually tossed his way, and understandably so.  It did swell warmth in his belly and flush his cheeks, but the taste was so jarringly awful and the finish so terribly rough that the fact it had managed that much was nothing short of a small miracle.  No, the little bird was simply taking her sweet time to fly home tonight. It would be just his luck, though, should this be the night she chose to give up her quest here and to fly south with her secrets instead.

Rexus let his head fall heavily backwards over the top of the chair, and shook the upturned bottle over his wide open mouth.  As expected, a few drops remained, but they splashed onto his nose and his cheeks, only a few landing anywhere he could feasibly send his tongue to collect them.   

Acceptance of one’s wasted efforts came easily to no man, and Rexus felt its bitter sting particularly keenly.  Quite the seasoned gambling man, he was well aware this had been a risky bet from the start. And for what? A name, easily forgotten and of no more consequence to him than any other?  Details of a life that, for all he knew, would never live up to those he’d invented for her in his head? Coin to buy his drinks and warmth in his bed just as easily obtained from practically anyone else, with a great deal less work on his part?  In any case, even if he had missed his chance to know this little southern bird, it wasn’t as if she would be leaving Minrathous eternally devoid of interesting foreigners in her wake.

Now thoroughly deprived of both drink and any semblance of patience, his arm fell limp to the side, keeping hold of the bottle purely by virtue of the sticky residue coating the outside of it.  A loud, droning yawn escaped his slack-jawed mouth, and, having settled his mind with this renewed commitment to indifference, he gave in to the needling urge to let his eyes flutter shut. The little bird would either grace him with her presence or she would not, and Rexus could no longer be bothered to care which.   

The Maker would allow him only the briefest of respite, it seemed, and sent the hard, ringing clunk of thick glass on dense wood to rouse him no sooner than the stairs above him disappeared behind his eyelids.  

Rexus jerked forward, burying the heels of his hands into his eyes.  He’d neither seen nor heard Nestor approach, but he brought with him wafts of the unmistakable perfume years of unflavored tobacco smoke and scrubbing all manner of swill and spit off his bar left behind, as well as a low growl behind his perpetually curled lip.  Probably come to tell him to shove off and drag his arse back home for the night, and if the first thing he saw when his vision cleared wasn’t brown curls and bird armor, Rexus had half a mind to do just that.

The Maker also saw fit to show him a bit of mercy, it seemed, and Rexus could not have chased the last bits of fog from his eyes quickly enough when he heard it: soft and breathy, barely reaching a whisper.  The sort of sound reserved for only the finest of things, soothing and deliciously titillating all at once.

A truly magnificent treasure.

Not what he’d been hoping for, alas, but Rexus supposed he could settle for an unsolicited glass of Nestor’s prized triple-distilled 45 year-old Mount Castelli whisky instead.  

The very whisky, in fact, the old man ordinarily locked away in a special room in his cellar specifically in order to keep Rexus away from it.  Clearly thrilled to be doing so, Nestor’s head bobbed gently from side to side as he corked his precious whisky once more in a tremor of disapproval at the triumphant smirk slowly spreading its way across Rexus’ face.

“See, Nestor, deep down I always knew you really do care.”

“Ha!” Nestor scoffed, wiping his nose on his knuckles.  “If you was drownin’ in the harbor, I’d sooner pour this lot a round o’ this stuff on the house while eatin’ a whole barrel of fish innards with a smile on my face than help _you.”_

Not exactly far off from what he expected, but Rexus’ smirk intensified as his head leaned sideways into an incredulous tilt.  Nestor, ever too stubborn to confirm Rexus’ accusations, simply flicked a curt nod over one shoulder.

“From the gentleman over there.”

Several men, none of whom could be considered ‘gentlemen’, congregated around the corner of the bar.  Good. ‘Gentlemen’ were boring. No, this rabble gave off a distinct air of _shore leave;_ colorful scarves tied about their heads, faces weathered and unshorn from weeks at sea, tankards clustered on the bar in front of them, eyes ogling, luridly, undressing any woman they could find without the slightest hint of subtlety.  The sort of men whose brazen tomfoolery would inevitably provide welcome entertainment on a particularly dull evening, but hardly the sort Rexus could imagine gifting a stranger a glass of high-end whisky.

Except, perhaps, for  _him._

He lounged against the wall, nearly hidden in shadow behind his revelling companions, with a polished, poised nonchalance and a telltale glass of his own held just below his distinctly clean-shaven chin.  Rexus might have mistaken him for a local from the warm amber of his skin and the pitch black waves of his meticulously combed hair, but his face was sculpted in aesthetically pleasing curves rather than the characteristic sharpness and angles of a Tevinter face.  Antivan, perhaps, or Rivaini. The ship’s captain, more than likely, but he had the look of a man who could convince a person he was anything he wished. Not that the identity of his benefactor mattered much; the drink went down smooth regardless of who reciprocated the grateful toast from across the room.

It seemed he would be granted an opportunity to find out for himself, however, as the handsome, hairless-faced ship’s captain shoved himself away from the wall and, with that same poised nonchalance, made his way through the crowds to Rexus’ table.  

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”

Rexus drank in the man’s voice, a crooning Antivan baritone, as smooth and flavorful as his whisky.  The handsome gentleman shifted his weight to one side and placed his glass on the table next to him, gesturing silently to the chair on the other side.  One golden-brown eye sent a fluid wink, the way one might surreptitiously pass a coin purse under a table. As if Rexus needed the incentive. After all, he _had_ been waiting for all this time, and now found this fine specimen of a man’s drink swelling a different sort of warmth in him as he approached unbeckoned.  Perhaps the little bird’s absence was more of a blessing than he’d thought.

“Indeed,” he replied, leaning back in his chair.  “Exquisite-looking fellow, with _exquisite_ taste in whisky.”  

Rexus’ smirk spread wide across his face, and the captain’s followed, somewhere between flattered and a little offended that Rexus _only_ found him ‘exquisite’.  Of course, the only suitable response was to ogle the man, luridly, and without the slightest hint of subtlety.  Maker knows he couldn’t have such a wondrous creature thinking he _wasn’t_ undressing him with his eyes.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?” he continued, and relinquished his now empty glass to the table in front of him.  “He’s sent me such a fine drink, after all, and it’s only right that I…”

Rexus trailed off as he shamelessly commandeered the captain’s remaining whisky and downed it in a single motion, his face set in an expression that, after a satisfied, foreshadowing _‘ahh’_ and a quick glide of his tongue over his lips, would leave little doubt in the handsome captain’s mind as to the meaning of the forthcoming double entendre.

" _Thank_ him for it.”

The table creaked under the captain’s weight on its edge, and he leaned slowly towards Rexus with a smirk and a low chuckle.  Oh, he knew. He knew, just as Rexus knew what the captain meant by that brush of his bottom lip under his teeth. He’d been given an invitation, and this served as assurance that it was an invitation he would gladly accept.  Rexus returned the gesture as assurance of his own that he intended on being... _exceedingly_ generous.

With the whisky gone and the two men having said all they needed to say, Rexus unceremoniously dismissed the glass and braced himself to stand.  He’d been in worse shape, for certain, but avoiding making an ass of himself before gaining access to the captain’s quarters seemed preferable. Spending the night in a ship’s cabin would be a nice change from his shabby attic storeroom, indeed.

Of course, it couldn’t possibly be so easy.

Ever a fickle beast, the Maker’s questionable sense of humor made itself known once again just as Rexus mustered the strength to hoist himself up, in the form of a small hand tightly wrapped in strips of worn linen, sliding pronate across the table towards him, something concealed underneath.  He didn’t watch as the hand retreated a moment later. He didn’t need to. He already knew what it left behind, and it was exactly the last thing he wanted to see right now.

A playing card, etched with several sorry excuses for letters in smeared ink.  

_Corner table, after dark.  We should talk._

His letters.

_Shit._

“Yours?”

The soft-spoken, breathy lilt quashed any hope he might’ve had that perhaps Nestor had given his hasty note to someone else, or this person had found it after its intended recipient hastily discarded it.

No, the little bird seemed quite intent on ruining this particular evening with her presence, rather than her absence.  She’d not even finished speaking before her brazen intrusion wrested the Antivan captain’s attention from him; by the time Rexus raised his eyes, he had taken to alternating glances between him and the little bird with the same cheeky raise of his eyebrows Rexus had grown fond of using himself when doing his part to make embarrassing public scenes even more embarrassing.  All the more unfortunate that the particular admonishment Rexus deemed appropriate for such an affront would now have to wait.

“Just some business.  You understand,” he assured him, careful to keep his focus centered squarely on the captain and not to acknowledge her beyond that, lest he appear too eager for anything other than to be finished dealing with her and return to more pleasurable pursuits.  How many nights Rexus had spent in that very spot, anticipating the very moment that very woman would do that very thing needn’t be any of his concern.

“Don’t go far.”  

He let a saucy smirk and a wink tell the captain what to expect when this unfortunately timed business was concluded, and the captain let his rendition of the same tell Rexus he would undoubtedly hold him to those expectations.  With that, he stood and left an almost taunting pat on Rexus’ shoulder.

“Don’t be too long,” the handsome Antivan captain crooned, gathering their glasses between his fingers as he turned to make his way back to the bar.  Rexus, of course, ogled, luridly, without the slightest hint of subtlety, and waited until the man was entirely out of sight to, despite this not being the most favorable circumstance to be doing so, look up at her for a change.

She wasn’t wearing the bird armor.  

Granted, Rexus had been understandably distracted when she made her approach to his table, but the absence of what had become her signature attire provided him some consolation over his frankly embarrassing failure to even consider the possibility that she may have never left the inn in the first place.

She stood before him now, deafeningly silent despite the dull roar across the rest of the tavern and eerily motionless, as plain as he’d imagined she was considered back home and twice as weary, still damned beautiful even with dark circles coalescing under her eyes, as if she’d barely slept in days.  Her dark soil-colored curls fell loose, pulled over one shoulder, and she’d left the armor behind in favor of simple leggings and a loose-fitting tunic which looked as though it had once belonged to a man several times her size - a lover left behind in the south, perhaps? Of course, that would require she have a lover at all, let alone one so large, and it was far more likely she had simply murdered a large man in the streets and stolen his shirt.  From what he’d seen, it was hardly beneath her.

The little bird stared him down the whetted edge of her nose with eyes like pits of tar, holding his gaze fast to them seemingly whether he would or no.  Not particularly glaring, simply...watching. Aware, but unaffected. Unimpressed. Even here, in this space he’d arranged for just the two of them, to give himself her full attention, she managed to silently remind him of his utter irrelevance as far as she was concerned.  Sobering far too quickly for this shit, Rexus put a sultry smile on his face and supposed he ought to get on with it.

“Well, sweet thing, I left it for you.  So, I believe it’s yours now.”

Anyone else, and at the very least a smile and a wink for his trouble wouldn’t have been much to ask.  All she offered in return for the privilege of basking in his uncanny wit was the tiniest flare of her nostrils, and an entirely unnecessary statement of the blatantly obvious.

“You are drunk.”

Rexus gasped with feigned offense, and daintily laid a hand over his chest.  What, he wondered, was she expecting of someone she was meeting in a bloody _tavern_?  Besides, if she’d noticed, the least she could’ve done is brought him another.  

“Usually, if I can help it,” he jeered, giving the grimy empty bottle on the floor beside him a shake in vain hopes it had more to offer.  The little bird certainly didn’t. Not a word. She barely so much as blinked, long enough to blanket them in an insufferably awkward, uncomfortable silence until Rexus emitted a loud, gruff ‘ _ahem’_ , as much to give himself a break from what had become quite excessive smiling as to be certain she hadn’t turned to stone or some such thing.     

She’d be damned difficult to beat at cards, he’d give her that.  Still, it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t try. Anyone who had secrets had tells.  He’d find out what made that stone face crack sooner or later.

Content at last to accept the almost reflexive twitch at the corner of her mouth when he did so, Rexus gave the chair across from him a swift kick under the table, and waggled his eyebrows towards it to invite her to sit.

“I’m glad you finally decided to join me,” he remarked.  The old wood moaned, just as he would were he in its position, as she settled softly into it.  Back straight and flush against the chair, hands folded on the table in front of her. Every movement measured, calculated, and executed with the utmost precision.  Rexus, in turn, leaned backwards and propped his feet on the table, fingers laced behind his head. “I’d almost begun to think I wasn’t going to get to meet you, miss…?”

He watched the sea of freckles on her chest above the hem of her shirt rise and fall with two calm, steady breaths, but no reply.  On the third inhale, she rubbed her oddly delicate fingers behind her ear, and slowly reached out with the exhale to turn the playing card to face him, tapping gently at the words scrawled across it.

_We should talk._

“Why?”

Rexus dug some dirt out from under his fingernail with his teeth and spit it onto the floor beside him, then shot measured glances between the card and the woman while chewing at the inside of his lip.  Of course, she had to start the conversation in the most attractive way possible. No hellos, no how-do-you-dos, no drawn-out introductions. No tedious pleasantries, just...straight to the point. A single word, and not even a demand, if her placid expression was any indication; merely a polite, patient request.  For her sake, he hoped she kept that patience in plentiful supply, for she would certainly need it. Little did she know, this particular table played host to a game, and returning that card to him dealt her in. And Rexus, well...he knew better than to be showing his hand so early.

“Well, had to get you here somehow, didn’t I?”

“You followed me here the day I arrived,” she reminded him, raising the bet in a tone that leveled heavy accusations of _bullshit_ , “and you were in the alienage the day you left this.”

She tapped at the card again.  

“Why?”

Focused, impervious to his efforts to dodge the question.  That could prove annoying. Clearly focused on the important things himself, Rexus only responded with the same vainglorious grin.  Annoying or no, he couldn’t help but be supremely flattered to know despite wishing him to believe he was of no consequence to her whatsoever, he clearly mattered enough for her to remember him.

“I told you, Sparrow, he ehn’t nothin’ but trouble,” old Nestor interjected as he gathered tankards from the table next to them.  “You hear? Nothin’ but trouble, that’s what you are, Rexus Leventis. Go back to drownin’ yourself in booze and whores and leave the lady alone.”

Such lofty praise, as always.  Such a lack of manners, as well, interrupting their game like that.  Just like the old man, he thought, peeking at his cards and announcing to the entire tavern what he saw.

“Now, now, Nestor, that hurts my feelings,” Rexus admonished, with a cursory wink across the table.  “I happen to be a very strong swimmer.”

Nestor jutted his jaw forward and spat a dismissive _pfffft,_ waving his hand and muttering to himself as he shuffled away.  At least now, thanks to the old man’s unwitting revelation, he’d seen some of her cards, as well.  The little bird had a name, and a rather fitting one at that.

“So, _Sparrow_ , is it?”  If her name passing his lips rattled her in the slightest, he didn’t see it.  Of course, she’d no reason to have given Nestor her real name, either. “You’re here, are you not?  I assumed you knew.”

She withdrew her hand from the card and back to the safety of her other hand, the way one flips a hand of cards face down to ward off prying eyes.  Rexus heard her deadpan reply before she’d even drawn the breath to say it.

“I have no interest in bedding you.”

His reputation preceded him, apparently.  No matter. It usually did, and by the night’s end, it never made a lick of difference.  Not that he had an immediate need of bedding _her_ , either, but if the captain wouldn’t mind the extra company, he supposed he never really could turn down a challenge.  What lie hidden beneath her clothes, or in her mouth while in the throes of passion, was as much a mystery as anything else about her, but he would cross that particular bridge when he came to it.  Rexus ground his teeth into his smile, wondering what other tidbits the old man had fed her.

“The night is still young, yes?  In any case, I don’t imagine you would’ve bothered meeting with me if you didn’t think there would be...benefits.”

“I am beginning to regret doing so.”

_Ouch._ Trying to hurt his feelings, was she?  Rexus deflected her retort with a disinterested wave, and glanced off in the direction of the Antivan sailors.  Time to move things along, he supposed. The captain wouldn’t wait forever.

“Nonsense.  You’ve not even heard how I can help you yet.”

Sparrow glanced briefly downwards, touched behind her ear again, then heaved a strong sigh and moved her hands to her lap.  To anyone else, such a thing would have seemed entirely innocuous, but the pride that gesture, that tell, sent coursing through Rexus was enough to force a delighted squirm out of him.  

_Got you now, Birdy._

He had something she wanted, and she was  _listening._

Now, provided he played his cards right, this gamble would pay off soon enough.  

“Not going well, is it?” he said, lowering his voice as his eyebrows raised and his mouth spread into a wry grin, almost sinister in the way it taunted her.    

“Oh yes, I’ve seen you about, flitting here and there, asking your little questions.”  He accented his condescending interpretation of her quest with coordinately ridiculous hand movements.  “It’s sweet, really. Traveling all this way, searching for the family who sent you south rather than raise you in poverty.  Or slavery, I haven’t worked out which.”

Sparrow held her statuesque posture, save for a minuscule upward twitch of one eyebrow, as if to say, ‘ _is that so?’_ and remained silent.  Two fingers extended from her folded hands and tapped out a sure rhythm against her leg.   _Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap._ Measured.  Calculated.  Boredom, perhaps?  Still regretting bothering to meet him?  That, or he was very, very close.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he scolded, picking the playing card up from the table and rolling it slowly over his fingers, watching her watch it, still tapping away.  “One can hardly swing a dead cat in Minrathous without hitting a southern mage searching for some long-lost family member. Can’t blame the poor sods for wanting a chance to feel important.”

_Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap._ The soft cadence slowed to a crawl before stopping completely after he finished speaking, and the freckles on her chest likewise returned to their previous steady rise and fall.  Ordinarily, Rexus might have seen his position advancing, but with her? He’d gained nothing with that speculation, and he knew it. Intriguing as she was, something needled at him about her, had been since the conversation started.  No names, no pleasantries, no explanations, just a simple question _._ Straight to the point, or at least it seemed so at the time.  She’d yet to confirm or deny a single thing. Sparrow relaxed now not out of some new-found comfort or trust, or anything that could be any sort of useful, but rather at the knowledge that, at least for the time being, she wouldn’t have to.  

_Oh, for the love of...Rexus, you blithering idiot._

This was  _her_ game.   _Her_ strategy.  He should’ve seen it before.  She’d told him as much in a single word, the first she spoke once she sat down.  

_Why?_

She couldn’t care less how Rexus could help her.  She wanted to know how much he knew. Or, rather, what he thought he knew.  She’d let him go on as long as he liked, telling her who she was and what she wanted, telling him nothing while letting him think he knew everything.  And he’d idiotically done exactly what she wanted, already climbing the metaphorical dais with his arms raised in triumph even as he served this hand to her on a silver platter.  

_Well played, Birdy._  Maker, this woman truly was magnificent.  

Nevertheless, he couldn’t allow this to stand.  Not while he still had so many cards of his own up his sleeve.  A formidable opponent she may be, but Rexus could proudly call himself something far more menacing:

An incorrigible cheat.

“You see, what I don’t understand is,” he began, gesturing towards her with his free arm before scratching at the rough stubble on his cheek, “you’re clearly a sharp, clever girl.  Why waste time poking around in the muck with the elves rather than simply go straight to the Magisterium? All the information you could possibly need is kept there, within its archives.”  

Often, the faces of southerners upon the suggestion that the Magisterium could be anything other than an insidious cult of blood mages shrouded in dark robes and surrounded by the bodies of elven slaves fell into a confounded, disbelieving mess, betraying their silent screams of ‘you can actually... _do_ that?’.  Sparrow, true to form, only pursed her lips and threw a pensive glance downward for a moment, searching the floor for an answer.  Oh, there was one, for certain. Enough people had tried to keep their truths from him that he could read such intent on any face, in any language.  Given the chance, she’d undoubtedly offer some vague half-truth she supposed would sate his curiosity, and that simply would not do.

Although, barring the right reason, she would not be so easily swayed against simply taking this information back up the stairs and investigating the archives herself, which also would simply not do.  

“Of course, outsiders - foreigners, such as yourself - would need a Magisterium escort to be allowed inside.  One of the scribes, for example,” he explained, watching the steady over-under waves of the playing card on his fingers.  Hardly a disingenuous tale, but one he purposely left incomplete. His reputation preceded him, after all, and Sparrow would either know, or she wouldn’t.  When she didn’t immediately leave, satisfied with this information and eager to begin her quest anew, Rexus let his head drop towards her, black curls bouncing in front of his heavy-lidded stare, and adopted a coy smirk to sweep away any doubts she might’ve had that it wouldn’t be quite so simple.

She held her head ever so slightly higher, that stare spilling down the edge of her nose once more.  Not quite the impassioned plea that he reveal his secrets he would have liked, but a stoic, wordless invitation to  _go on._

“They are, however, quite...single-minded, shall we say, regarding their scribery.  It’s hardly unheard of to spend entire days waiting for one of them to finally suppose assisting you won’t be too grave of an inconvenience.”  

Rexus allowed his voice to betray hints of his own intimate knowledge of the woes involved when dealing with the Magisterium scribes, having done so far more often than he would have liked, but the swift nod from across the table told him such insufferable tedium was hardly a daunting prospect.  True, she’d shown a great deal of patience thus far, but this...if this was more than a simple boast, she toed a thin line between unwavering patience and downright apathy. Of the two, patience was immensely preferable; he could easily wear through even the most steadfast patience, given enough time and the proper circumstances, but apathy...he hadn’t the patience for apathy.

“Though, they won’t allow you to actually... _touch_ anything,” he continued, flashing a smile before lifting his head and turning his attention back to the card in his fingers.  “Should you so much as  _breathe_ on their precious books and papers the wrong way?  Maker, you could never imagine the chaos. Just tell them what you need, and they will locate everything for you.  As simple as simple gets, really.”

_There._  He narrowly caught it from the corner of his eye, but catch it he did.  She drew a deep breath, shifted her gaze downward, and once again touched behind her ear.  The prospect of days spent waiting to be escorted into the archives may not have ruffled her feathers, but that of leaving the searching to someone else?  Not just to anyone, but a Magisterium lackey notoriously averse to bending the rules? Whatever elusive circumstance it was that could erode her composure, whatever happened to be the one thing she’d told herself she would never, ever do, the one thing that would crack the stone of her face, that was what he may as well have told her would be required of her.

“Unless, of course, there’s some reason you wouldn’t want the magisters or their scribes to know what you’re searching for.  Some reason that confirming your origins might...upset them.”

Only a handful of scenarios would require such caution, and every one of them led back to the encounter in the elven slums.

_She looking for her mama._   

She wasn’t in that alley looking for an elf who  _knew_ her mother.

She was looking for an elf who  _was_ her mother.

Snapping the card to a halt between two fingers and his eyes back to hers, a wicked grin crawled across Rexus’ face.

“So, which is it?  Elf-blood? Bastard daughter of a magister?  Elf-blooded bastard daughter of a magister? Do let me know if I’m getting warm.”

Judging by the deep sigh, the small wrinkles forming at the bridge of her nose, and the prolonged tension around her eyes, he was practically on fire.   

Little wonder why she’d been sent south as an infant, then.  True, nobles taking their elven slaves to bed was hardly uncommon, if not encouraged, but to have a child with one of them?  That would leave an indelible stain on the reputation of even the most powerful magisters, and any one of them would deal with such news severely.

Oh, this was _good._

Sparrow shifted forward, lacing her fingers and resting her elbows on the table, and locked eyes with him beneath knitted brows.

“You are offering to escort me to the Magisterium archives, then?”  

His grin stretched as wide as his skin would allow.   _Perfect._ That undivided attention he’d been after from the start washed over him like waves on the breakwater in the harbor, and he intended to let himself soak in it.

“Me?” he exclaimed through a shrill chuckle.  “Why ever would I do such a thing?”

“You wore the symbol of the Magisterium that day in the alienage.”

Rexus nodded, pushing out his lower lip and glancing down at his black jerkin, no such symbols in sight.  “I did indeed. I’m quite flattered you noticed.” Quite flattered, indeed. His turn, he supposed, to wonder what else, exactly, she’d noticed, and what else, exactly, she’d deemed worthy of remembering.

“You are no mage.  Magisters are all mages.”

“Very true.”  He held up his hands, turning them palm to back to palm again.  “No magi-anything here, I’m afraid.”

“Nor are you a scribe.”

“Certainly not,” he snorted.  “Maker, such a dull existence.”  

From the way she adjusted her back against the chair, and the slow roll of her bottom lip between her teeth, she’d tired of this guessing game.  Alas, just as the minute tics in the corners of her eyes were beginning to amuse him.

“Then what is it, exactly, you do?”

Ah, yes, _that_ was the question, wasn’t it?  Rexus resumed the slow turns of the card over his fingers, weighing his answer carefully.  

“I am...well, let’s just say I am a...trusted associate to some of the Magisterium’s more...influential members.”  A piss-poor description if there ever was one, but it would do. A great deal of the deeds associated with that black armor would hardly inspire trust in the man who wore it, but if there was one thing he’d learned he could always count on, it was that people gave a shit if and only if said shit would benefit them in some way.  He would know, after all, being a person himself.

Timing was always key if one wished to succeed when cheating at cards, and, having honed an impeccable sense of timing, Rexus determined now to be precisely the time to slip an extra ace to the deck.

“As such, I am privy to all of their records.”

He had already cracked that stone-faced stare once, but he would split it open entirely only by making himself her best option, only with the knowledge of how, exactly, his being a trusted associate of the Magisterium’s more influential members would get her into the archives undisturbed.  That, fortunately for him, would be mere child’s play.

“Including those they keep squirreled away from outsiders with Magisterium escorts.“

He paused, corners of his mouth inching upward with every second that passed without a steadfast indication she understood exactly what he meant.

“You think a magister would allow evidence of an elf-blooded bastard child to remain in the main archive, where any fool could find it?  If he would allow such a thing to exist at all? You’d be sorely mistaken. If you want to find what you came here to find, little Sparrow, you need those records.”   

Her gaze tensed.  Precisely the time to lay that extra ace on the table.

“You need me.”

Now that he’d played his cheat card, all that remained was to leave no trace in his eyes of what he’d done.  Only the most gullible souls would believe a lie if the liar didn’t believe it himself. Of course, it wasn’t entirely a lie, but Sparrow was, indeed, a sharp, clever girl; she would either call his bluff, or she wouldn’t.  

“I see.”  She dropped her eyes to her hands and adjusted the linen wraps around them for a moment before she locked eyes with him again, her head fixed in a skeptical tilt.  “And what would you want in return? I don’t imagine you are the sort who gives of himself without concern for reward.”

Rexus couldn’t have kept the lascivious grin off of his face even if he’d wanted to.

“Oh, I am always rewarded when I give of myself, as are those I give to.”  

An idea struck him then, pushing its way forward from the back of his mind as he watched the card flip between his fingers, and continuing to push even as he tried to dismiss it.  He’d arranged this little meeting to sate his thirst for answers, to learn about this magnificent, fascinating new inhabitant of his city and perhaps make a bit of coin on the side, but if he went all in with this, perhaps...perhaps he could forego the coin, and stand to gain a bit more.  

It was the riskiest of bets, for certain.  She wasn’t the sort who would simply acquiesce to any suggestion offered to her, who would give in to pressure to go in the direction he wanted without any resistance.  Not without making him work for it. Nonetheless, he sat back in his chair and looked her over once more, twice more, a third time, imagining, churning the idea through his mind until it seeped out onto his face.  After all, what could he truly say he could learn by talking to her that would be worth more than what he would learn with nothing but sweat and ragged breath between them?

“Now that you mention it, however, this extra work for you is really going to cut into my... _swimming_ , as it were,” he began, with a coy stroke of his chin, and a slow turn of hungry eyes towards their chosen prey.

He’d filled his bed for the night.  Now, to see if he couldn’t fill it for a few more.

“You make that up for me, and I think we can call ourselves even.”

If he was being honest with himself, he’d entirely expected to hear the rough shriek of chair legs on the floor, followed by a great deal less than pleasant exit.  By the look on her face, Sparrow seemed more confused than anything, which, although not what he’d been aiming for, did prove somewhat amusing.

“What?”

“I suppose that was a little vague, wasn’t it?” he snickered, and resumed turning the card in his fingers.  “Since you didn’t specify my reward be limited to gold, I’d settle for nothing more than your company, to compensate for time in your service I had previously dedicated to seeking such company elsewhere.”

Her brow tensed, and she withdrew, her back returning flush against the chair, one hand leaping up to touch behind her ear once again.

“That’s rather bold, Master Leventis.”

“Please, sweet thing, just Rexus,” he countered, waving off the accusation the way one swats away a mildly bothersome fly.  Maker, but if he couldn’t listen to his name in her voice and nothing else for the rest of his life. “And, that’s my fee. Safer than coin, you see.  It would look quite suspicious were I to suddenly show up to the brothel spending southern gold. Maker, what would people say?” He brought his feet back down to the floor, and leaned in towards her, one finger sliding the card across the table.  “Better that I save the coin and just...spend the southerner herself.”

Sparrow set her face into a renewed stone stare at the end of a sigh, not a crack in sight.  Just as well. A valiant effort, at least.

“Done.”

A scoff escaped him, as if out of instinct, the way one spouts curses after stubbing a toe.  “I thought you might…”

_Wait…_

“I’m sorry, what?”  

She hadn’t _really_ said...had she?

“Done,” she repeated, and reached forward, lifting the card and holding it next to her head between two fingers.  “I accept your terms.”

Rexus raised his eyebrows and laughed, half to solidify his triumph and half in surprise that complete and utter bullshit had _actually worked_.

“And here I thought you weren’t interested?”

Sparrow held that stone-faced stare as she rested against the back of her chair once more and folded her hands in her lap.  “I am interested in finding what I came here to find, nothing more. What I must do to see it done is of no consequence to me.  If the only price for your assistance is that I waste a few hours in bed with you, so be it.” Finally, her eyes at least moved, dragging over him like a white glove over a mantle.  “Provided you are courteous enough to bathe first.”

Rexus crossed his arms and sported a wide and very self-satisfied grin.  Considering the conversation’s impromptu nature and his apparent lack of any capacity to read her at all, he really couldn’t have asked for it to have gone much more in his favor. Never mind the general consensus regarding him among Minrathous’ public bathhouses; the least he could do was oblige her this small request.

“I certainly can help you, sweet thing.”  As it often did, temptation won over, and Rexus couldn’t resist making a small request of his own, the same request he’d made of countless others.  A request often honored verbally, only to be cast aside like spoiled meat before their time together came to an end.

“Provided you are courteous enough not to go falling in love with me.”

“Why would I do that?”

Aside from the slight, almost perplexed tilt of her head, not the tiniest bit of muscle more than necessary moved with her reply, which tickled Rexus into a high-pitched chuckle.   

“Why, indeed,” he mused.  An interesting choice of cards, that question.  Genuine, yet he felt a distinct sense of mockery, as if she were daring him to make her.  Despite the tangible absence of the sort of eagerness for him that had become as essential as breathing, she was passionate about _something,_ which meant with the right strategy, he could become that something.  And, oh, did he ever intend to try. Whether that was her intention or his mind’s own invention was of little concern to him.  As far as he was concerned, the game was over, and the pot was his.

“Now then, if that’s all settled, I’ve other matters to attend to.”

Rexus extended a supine hand across the table, and his grin across his face once more when Sparrow clasped it in hers, handing herself to him with a strong squeeze and a sharp shake.   

“I’ll be by again tomorrow.  We can...discuss my fee in more detail then.”

She reclaimed her hand and acknowledged their forthcoming appointment with a terse nod before quietly excusing herself, brushing dust from her clothes and tugging at the linen on her hands once more.  Rexus watched intently, still reeling from his unexpected victory, the game from beginning to end replaying itself in his mind. Something stuck out, though, as she turned to leave. Something unresolved.  Crucial information he would be remiss to allow her to leave without.

“Oh, and, Sparrow?”  She didn’t turn, only craned her neck to look at him again over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.  A warning, that he’d better have good reason for such an interruption. His lips parted once more into a toothy grin, all too eager to oblige.  “The hours you spend with me will be far from wasted.”

She left as silently as she’d arrived, and Rexus watched, luridly, without the slightest hint of subtlety.  Once his little bird disappeared up the stairs, and the voices, music, and clinking of glasses permeated his ears again, he stood himself and turned his attention to that shadowy corner beside the bar.  By the time he caught sight of the Antivan captain, he’d already begun making his way over, golden brown eyes still sparkling with expectation. Rexus lifted the playing card from the table, rolling it over his fingers a final time, and tucked it away into his belt just as his prize for the night arrived.  He nodded towards the door, and as he turned to follow the captain out into the night with the remainder of his winnings awaiting him , he couldn’t have possibly felt more like the luckiest man alive.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Stop by my [tumblr](http://leothelionsaysgrrrr.tumblr.com) for some more information on my OCs, or to ask me anything about this or my other story, [Equilibrium](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6363454/chapters/15439402)!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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